


quiet mornings

by flibbityflob



Series: Dorogrid Week [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:20:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24353491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbityflob/pseuds/flibbityflob
Summary: post azure moon, dorothea and ingrid spend a quiet morning in, surrounded by family, the future they’ve made for themselves.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Series: Dorogrid Week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1761280
Comments: 1
Kudos: 32





	quiet mornings

**Author's Note:**

> prompt for this one - childhood

If half a decade of aching with unrequited love had not taught Dorothea the art of patience, then the act of parenting most certainly had. Oskar, their oldest, took after his father. Ingrid’s younger brother, Anders, had died in the war, alongside his wife, leaving their son behind. It had only been natural, once the war had ended and Dimitri had taken his place on the throne, granting wealth and prestige to House Galatea once more, that Ingrid would take her place as its Count. And it was only natural to Ingrid’s character, the character Dorothea had fallen for almost twenty years ago, that she would take on the duty of raising her orphaned nephew. Their son. 

He was a bright boy, they’d taken him in shortly after his second birthday and he’d flourished under Ingrid’s gentle guidance. Dorothea, for all her earnestness and eagerness to take a child (or a dozen) under her wing, had felt only the sheer terror of potentially ruining this poor child with her own anxieties and losses. The first six months had been a trial, that was no doubt. Oskar was anxious and lonely, missing his parents dearly, and Dorothea had spent more than one night sitting by his bedside trying in vain to calm him. But the months had passed and Oskar had calmed and that was when Ashe had arrived, two orphans in tow. Karl and Markus were young, rowdy, and had been orphaned in the war too. According to Ashe, despite their extremely young age, they’d been living rather effectively off the land (and through thievery, but that was beside the point), but they’d run into trouble with the King’s reforms on farming effectively ending their way of life. Ashe had stumbled across them whilst on his way to pay a call to Felix, and one look at their hungry, scared faces had shattered Dorothea’s heart. And so here they were, a part of their family. Through all the trials and tribulations of life, of parenthood and marriage, they were a family. Ingrid was her partner, and loved Dorothea with her whole heart, and on the worst days she stabilised her. and that was enough. Dreams of fame and fortune, of unimaginable wealth, be damned, this was enough for her.

The problem with parenting, however, Dorothea had learned, was that silence went from something rather wonderful and calming, to a sign of something terrible due imminently. She awoke early one morning to her wife still asleep on her chest, soft and relaxed, and to the sound of dead silence. She was mother to three boys. They were not silent creatures.

“Ingrid, my love.” Dorothea mumbled, to the mess of cropped blonde hair and limbs entangled under the sheets and on her chest.

“Mmm? W- what is it” Ingrid said through a yawn.

“Have you noticed the sun’s risen?”

“I have now, Dot. I’m not sure why that’s a notable thing, it does rise every day.”

“Have you noticed anything else, my sweet?” She said, pushing herself up off the bed, hardly bothering to cover herself. 

“Aside from my wife, no.”

Dorothea laughed then, musical and sweet and utterly full of love, and leant down to kiss Ingrid, ruffling the tuft of greying blonde hair as she pulled away.

“You’re overdue a haircut,” she giggled, before adopting a tone of false seriousness, “but no, my love. I can’t help but notice our darling children aren’t making any noise.”

At that, Ingrid sat upright, alert and on the lookout for danger. Her green eyes flicked around the room, as if looking hard enough for her children might summon them. “Oh fuck.”

“Yes, I felt rather the same. You’re looking utterly ravishing this morning, by the way. But I feel like we might want to get some clothes on before something happens.”

Ingrid yawned then, stretching out, and the blankets fell from her chest as she did.

“I suppose. Which one of our children causing mayhem are you putting your money on?”

“I love you so dearly, but we do run the risk of one or all of them bursting in and discovering exactly what I did to you last night.” She giggled, dragging herself from their bed into the chill air of the morning. “And Oskar, he’s been getting antsy since Felix’s last visit. I think the desire to hit things runs strong in this family, I really do.” 

Ingrid followed, long and languid and utterly graceless. Dorothea adored her. “Blame Sylvain as much as Felix for enabling him and his affection for the sword. I wanted them all to learn the lance. There’s finesse involved there, not just mindless strength.” 

“But alas, my love, you’ll have to make do with only one of our boys following in your footsteps.”

“I suppose I’ll just have to thank the goddess that Ashe didn’t get them all into archery. I can at least help them with their sword training.” Ingrid laughed as she buttoned up a loose linen shirt, her hair still all kinds of askew. 

“And I’m just glad they’re good in the lessons that don’t involve them beating each other up. Help me into this dress, would you?”

“Of course, Dot. And you’re right, of course. Though I do wish they’d pay more attention in their history lessons. And their mathematics, of course. Markus is the only one of them I think might actually have a head for numbers, and at this rate I think Oskar will thank me if I leave the estate in his hands. And all Karl wants to do nowadays is ride.”

“Which of course, you let him do without question.”

“Of course. If there’s one skill I consider essential in my children, it’s knowing how to ride.”

“I know this, and I adore you for it. Now, we both seem a damn sight more decent than before. Shall we go down to breakfast and see what horrors await us?”

“I suppose so. I shudder to think what three boys under the age of ten have done behind our backs.”

“Whatever mischief they cause is on you, Ingrid.” She smiled, pulling Ingrid close to kiss her softly, ignoring the splutters of disdain from her wife.

“You indulge them far more than me.”

“Lies, lies. Now come, the more we spend dawdling around here the more trouble they’ll have the chance to cause.”

Brytas Keep had been held by the Galatea family for as long as they’d been a noble house, which was not a long stretch of time in comparison to the ancient lineage of some of the other families of Faerghus, but it stood tall and proud all the same. In summer, when the weather turned warmer and the sun shone bright, the castle was comfortable and warm, reminding Dorothea of Enbarr in spring, but as the days grew short and the nights grew cold, so did Brytas. The years had been kind to Galatea, farming developments and the good graces of the King had improved its fortunes, as had the guidance of its Count. Perhaps a decade ago, when Ingrid had first professed her love and adoration for Dorothea, she might have been wary of raising her family in this place, but the years had been kind, and the noise of boisterous children laughing brightened the halls every day. The halls of the castle, that once seemed imposing and chilly, brought only the comfort of home and familiarity. Especially that morning, as Dorothea walked along the hallway, her wife’s arm in her own, hearing the delighted laughter of her children echoing across the walls.

“I have a horrid feeling they’re getting up to something they shouldn’t be, my love.” Dorothea said, squeezing Ingrid’s arm softly.

“Probably.” Ingrid said, letting out a heavy sigh as they neared their dining room, the sound of their boys loud and gleeful.

“Karl.” Dorothea sighed, as she rounded the door, looking at the mischief her middle child was causing. The unmistakable noise of an extremely excitable thirteen year old falling off the chair he was standing on was the inevitable end to any activity the boys found themselves in.

“Mom! M-Mother?” Karl shouted, halfway between glee and alarm, clearly not in any kind of pain, instead smiling wide at the sight of his mothers.

“We didn’t think you’d be awake, either of you.” Markus stuttered, his face nervous and covered in… 

“Is that flour?” Dorothea asked, her eyes crinkling up slightly in confusion and curiosity.

“I- we-” Markus started, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt, “I-”

Oskar, in all his youthful innocence and glee, was happy to answer in his brother’s stead. “It was Karl’s idea!”

“Oskar, what the-”

“Language, Karl.” Dorothea said, trying desperately to keep the laughter bubbling up in her chest from coming up, no amount of cuteness could get them out of the fact they were clearly in trouble.

“It’s just…” Karl started, his bright eyes shining with fear and glee, “it’s been 8 years since we came here. And you always give us cake, and presents, and stuff like that, but we…” he paused, looking up at his mothers with nerves and love. “We wanted to thank you, for giving us a home.”

Dorothea swept him into a hug, bringing Markus in too, as Ingrid went to give Oskar the piggy back he was asking for, his big eyes pleading and sad.

“You don’t need to thank us for these things, you know that. You’re our boys, your place is with us and you give us so much joy every day.” She said, tightening her grip just the slightest bit.

Ingrid coughed, ever so softly, adjusting Oskar’s monkey’s grip on her back as she walked over towards her two older sons. “You’re too sweet, the pair of you. And your mother is right, you don’t need to do anything like this.” She paused for a second, looking down at Karl, and grinned. “But I am wondering, why were you standing on that chair if you were cooking?”

“Oh… Well. You know those old books Uncle Ashe used to give us when he came to visit? The ones about Loog, and stuff?”

Ingrid nodded slightly, shifting backwards to deposit Oskar on the table, where he sat happily, growing even happier after Ingrid sat next to him, keeping vigilant watch over his brothers. 

“Well, we found one of the ones that we hadn’t read before and Markus agreed to read it for us, once we’d finished the cake. And, I mean, Oskar was doing it too, but. We kind of started re-enacting the big fight between King Loog and Emperor Ionius II, and...”

“They got carried away.” Markus said, rolling his eyes at his brothers’ exploits. 

Ingrid had to try and hide the laughter that threatened to bubble up in her chest, and for a moment she saw herself, Felix, and Dimitri in the eyes of her enthusiastic sons. She made a mental note to inform Dimitri of the way her sons were behaving before they next took the trip up to Fhirdiad to visit him and Marianne. They probably all needed to prepare themselves for the general chaos their children would cause together. 

By the time the kitchen was clean, the flour safely removed from the ceiling and the remnants of what was supposed to be cake washed away, the boys had migrated into their sitting room. The fire was blazing, bright and warm, and all three boys looked content and happy. Dorothea looked over at her wife, and for a moment, Ingrid looked as young as she’d been the day they first kissed, wrinkles and grey hair faded away in the brilliant warmth of the fire. Dorothea walked closer, taking Ingrid’s hand in her own, rubbing softly at her wife’s wedding ring.

“I wish I could say I’m even a little angry at them, but I’m not. They remind me too much of myself at that age. Goddess knows we destroyed half the tables in Fhirdiad. Dimitri especially.”

“If it’s any comfort, my love, I’m not either. The castle is still intact, so are their limbs, and they weren’t handling any dangerous weapons.”

“Better than me. I think I nearly stabbed about four people the first time I picked up a lance.”

“And now look at you.”

Ingrid murmured softly, and leant her head onto Dorothea’s neck, contentedly sighing.

“I love you.”

“And I love you, my darling Ingrid.”


End file.
